By Tuesday, we had settled into the routine of Bear Camp; coffee and a quick bite, off to freshen baits and check out the previous night's activity, then back to the cabin for a lunch that would founder a mule. Then a little lounging, storytelling, and grab-assin' before suiting up and headin' to the woods.
Today's bait run is worth mentioning because Diablo Tom decided to send four of us campers out on our own, without a map, just some sketchy instructions hastily scribbled on a scrap of paper. Big Bill Moran is at the wheel, with Larry "Caddo" Dix ridin' shotgun, while Gatekeeper and myself are tucked in to the jump seat.
Now, if Allen drives the backroads like an Indy racer, Big Bill is pure NASCAR. His Chevy bounced down the road, touching down only occassionally. Remember, we are navigating largely from memory. Gatekeeper and I learned most of this course from the backseat of Allen's truck, in the rain. We also are responsible for finding our own stands; again, mine was accessed via Allen's driving the previous night. Anyhow, we finally found most of them...Bill had a unique way of marking the turnoffs, leaving a sweeping cat's arse in the gravel that we were sure to find the next trip. When we finished (with only one bait left un-found) we bounced back to the cabin for lunch. Lloyd and Allen had traveled out to check the Moose Tower and the Cove, and reported that both had been hit hard over the last 24 hours. This gave me the confidence to again choose the Bowl for my evening sit.
Big Bill was to hunt the Group-a stand Tuesday evening, so he would be my ride to the Bowl. Bill and I were both pretty pumped up about the evening hunt, and Bill said he'd be back to pick me up around 9:15...unless he shot a bear.
Bill dropped me off at the trailhead leading to the Bowl around 3:30,and rambled on up the hill and out of sight. I took my time walking up the hill, climbed up into the stand hanging in the spruce, and settled in with my bow across my lap, with an arrow nocked.
Around 4:30, I noticed a dark form coming down the ridge to my left. Upon further inspection, it was a big black bear, lunch pailin' it on down the hill to the bait. When he noticed a figure in the treestand, you could almost hear a cartoon "screech" as he planted his heels and came to a stop. His nose came up, and his head swung from side to side as he tried to gain a clue as to the intruder at the bait. This was a different bear than what I had been seeing up to this point; his head seemed small in comparison to the body, but looked wider. His ears rode lower on the side of his head. And he walked with a sway and a swagger that was not possessed by the smaller bear at the Cove. Slowly, he lumbered down toward the bait. At a fork in the trail that would have brought him down to the entrance to the bait crib, he instead veered left, and skirted around behind the bait. He would occassionally look directly at me, swinging his head side to side, up and down, trying to get a whiff. He came down close, first on the left, then around and down on the right. You could tell that he WANTED to come in to the bait, but could just not bring himself to commit. At last, he came further down the hill, right to where the trail branched, and began to turn in to the crib. "HERE WE GO!," I thought, and began to bring my bow up...but the bear hung up behind a small spruce, a mere two yards from the base of my tree, within view, but not presenting any kind of shot. I could hear him snuffing, huffing, trying to gain the confidence to step on up to the barrel. Finally, he pivoted on his heel and lumbered up the hill, right next to the same tree the cub had climbed the night before. From behind the spruce, he started a spying dance, standing up with his paws on the tree to look around the right side, then down on all fours to peek around on the left. He repeated this move a number of times before taking off across my field of view with a purpose, around to the back side of a small hill to the right. Suddenly, his head popped up on a stretched neck above the hill, trying to catch me making a sudden move. Again, he swung across to my left, and came down to the fork in the trail at the crib's entrance, within feet of the steps screwed in to my tree. And again, he held up behind the spruce, not able to commit to those last few steps which would allow me to shoot. Finally, he began to shuffle slowly back up the ridge, and when he reached the spruce that had served as his dancing pole, he broke into a trot, up the hill and out of sight...
Topic: Bear Quest III >>---> Start Your Engines (Read 22675 times)
